


Lazy

by LadyGlinda



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Established Relationship, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sherlock is a Brat, Sibling Incest, Smut, holmescest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 15:25:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21255548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyGlinda/pseuds/LadyGlinda
Summary: Mycroft wants to go upstairs. Sherlock refuses. Sex on the couch :)





	Lazy

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the overexposure! Just a little drabble I started yesterday; after two one shots without sex there had to be something a little smutty :)

Mycroft sighs, looking down on his brother. “You haven’t moved one bit since right after dinner, have you?”

Sherlock snorts. “Why would I? Needed help with the dishes?” He grins when Mycroft glowers at him. “I’ll take care of breakfast tomorrow,” he promises, and Mycroft smiles.

“You won’t remember this in the morning...”

“Nah, probably not.”

“Brat.”

“Borer.”

Mycroft shakes his head and reaches out to tap against Sherlock's shoulder. “Come on now. Time for bed.”

“Nope. I’m comfy here.”

“What are you, five? Get up now, lazy git.”

“Make me...”

Mycroft sighs. “You know I have a bad back. I can’t carry you to the bedroom.”

“Shame. I’d like that. Bridal style...”

“If you put on a dress, I might rethink it.”

Sherlock snorts again. Then he lets his large right hand slide down his body, from his chest to his plain stomach. He is still wearing his dark-blue shirt and slim fit trousers, both rather crumpled now.

“What is that? Want to please yourself here?”

“Since you’re annoying, I’m going to have a wank,” Sherlock confirms, rubbing his crotch.

“You are incorrigible,” Mycroft accuses.

Sherlock yawns. He opens his shirt buttons and lets the shirt fall to both sides. He doesn’t wear an undershirt and Mycroft glances at his pale, smooth chest, the dark nipples already erect.

Mycroft licks his lips. He should just walk away and leave Sherlock to his own devices. It is ghastly how his little brother plays on him like on his Stradivarius…

He stays though, staring down at his brother, who licks his lips now, too, mimicking Mycroft's unconscious action, and smiles dirtily when Mycroft throws him an unconvincing glare.

His fingers are busy, tweaking a nipple, playing with his navel, following the fine line of dark hair that leads into his trousers, which he opens now with deft fingers, reaching into his black pants. His cock, long and pink and edible, pops out, the tip already moist, and he eases the foreskin back completely, revealing his tasty crown, darker than the rest, and he taps onto the slit and pulls his finger away, producing a glistening twine of pre-seminal fluid.

“Brat!” Mycroft brings out, reaching down to his own throbbing erection.

“You’re repeating yourself,” Sherlock lets him know, starting to move his hand up and down his thick shaft. “Sure you don’t want to join in?”

Mycroft knows it’s pointless to reject him. In the end, little brother always has his way. But his back is really plaguing him now so he doesn’t see himself kneeling and bending down to suck Sherlock off. It would do nothing for his neck.

But baby brother deduces the problem. He gestures at the large couch. “Plenty of space for a nice 69,” he lures him. “You can be on your back.”

Mycroft sighs, feigning exasperation. Sherlock just grins, and he gives in and starts to undress. They have showered before dinner, not together though so he feels comfortable enough to get intimate with his brother.

He neatly folds his clothes, ignoring Sherlock's ostentatious sighs. When he is naked, Sherlock makes room for him, and he sits down and lies back when his brother, suddenly not quite that lazy anymore, moves about him. Sherlock even puts a pillow under his head before he lowers down on him, nudging the flexible head of his cock against his lips, and Mycroft opens his mouth willingly. In his position he can’t take Sherlock too deep as it would require bending his neck in an awkward angle but it isn’t necessary. Sherlock is very content with having his knob worked over, and he moans when Mycroft suckles at it sloppily before he lowers his head to take Mycroft's generous member into his mouth in return.

The otherwise silent room is filled with noises that can only be described as naughty. They slurp and swallow their saliva plus the other one’s pre-come noisily and Mycroft thinks with amusement that the sounds they are producing probably resemble certain animals eating their food from a trough.

Sherlock feels his grin and raises his head to look at him. “What?”

“Nothing, little brother. Go on. Oink oink.”

Sherlock laughs out loud and slaps the underside of his thigh. “Nasty brother!”

“Most definitely.” They share a grin before resuming their tasty task.

Sherlock's hot, wet mouth feels devilishly good around his cock and it’s tempting to lie back and let himself be pleased. But Sherlock would most definitely object to this and Mycroft loves tasting and worshipping him as much as receiving this treatment, so he tries to focus on giving him pleasure rather than riding on the waves of his own arousal.

He uses his hands, too, deftly kneading his brother’s plush buttocks and teasing his puckered entrance in the go, making baby brother moan around his prick. Sherlock increases his efforts, silently urging him to do the same, and they chase their orgasms while whole-heartedly spoiling one another until Sherlock moans in his deepest voice and a gush of salty semen hits Mycroft’s palate. He greedily swallows his brother’s rich fluid and groans when Sherlock roughly pulls at his balls, just the way he loves it. He is being pushed over the edge by the combination of exquisite pain and Sherlock's tongue working over his frenulum and he pulses into Sherlock's mouth, feeling as if his groin is being ripped apart. He collapses into the cushions, feeling as if every bit of energy had been pumped – or sucked – out of him.

Sherlock jumps onto the floor, looking as if he had got a shot of energy instead. “Ready to go upstairs now?” he asks with raised eyebrows.

Mycroft groans. “Give me a moment.”

“Nah, want to cuddle with you in your bed. Let’s go.”

Mycroft opens his eyes widely when he is manhandled onto his feet, and then draped over his brother’s shoulder. “Sherlock, are you mad? You can’t carry me!”

“Sure I can. You’re the smart one and I’m the strong one. And since you are too lazy to get up… I know: ‘Brat’.”

“You really are.” Mycroft, being carried through his living room, chuckles against Sherlock's back.

“Brat with backpack,” Sherlock puns, and Mycroft groans.

This is being with Sherlock. He loves it. He loves him...


End file.
